


A Gift to Last Forever

by jaibhagwan



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl Secret Santa 2015, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaibhagwan/pseuds/jaibhagwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He gave her a curious glance, wondering how much of himself he could really give her, and if it would ever be enough for her to want to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift to Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Peonies01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peonies01/gifts).



> AN: Written for @peonies01 for the Carylers Secret Santa gift exchange on Tumblr. Inspired by my absolute favorite Glen Hansard song, This Gift, which incidentally, I think should be Caryl's theme song. Play the song after reading for the Ultimate Feels Boost. Many thanks to my beta, Meeshie, for making me work for it. -jb

 

The knife sticking out of the walker's throat may as well have been embedded in his chest the way all the air suddenly left him. Dumbfounded, Daryl just stared. The small cache of hope he had found when he returned with the newborn's formula oozed from the wound until he shriveled into a husk of disbelief.

Stepping forward, he kneeled by the corpse, tilting his head, momentarily confused by the recognition. Gripping the handle, he pulled it from the walker, and it released with a sickening squirt. The breath he drew in was painful. "That's Carol's knife."

He had buried her—or what had been left—coiling that floral scarf into the empty grave himself with a heart full of regret. Just like the others, he was trying to move on through his grief as best he could. Seeing her knife sticking out of the walker meant she had gone out fighting. The thought filled him with pride and horror at the same time as he remembered how they came upon the bloody remains of T-Dog. His face paled. Unable to find the strength to stand, Daryl sat back on his heels as he felt another hard blow to his gut, and his breath was once again knocked sharply from him.

_No, it was worse than that._

A sinking sensation grew where his breath had been as the realization settled uncomfortably in his belly. That slow clanking coming from the door in the first hallway they had swept eerily came back to him. The walker that had no fight left. _Was that_ —

_No! It ain't her! Can't be!_

Anger quickly heated his blood. In defiance, he wiped the blade against the corpse's prison-gray jumpsuit. Suddenly, he was on his feet.

"You alright, man?" Oscar inquired. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Daryl glared at the man and started to pace. A ghost, he could handle. But this was so much worse.

Carl stared at his shoes. He knew how bad it was. His feet shifted, like he was adjusting the weight of some heavy burden. Unable to meet Daryl's eyes, the words tumbled from his lips, "We still have that first hallway to clear."

Daryl stopped pacing long enough to take in the shameful hunch of Carl's shoulders. The kid didn't need to see this, he realized. Dismissing Carl and Oscar, Daryl growled, "I got that one. Go back upstairs!" The last thing he needed was an audience.

Cautiously, he approached the door as it clink-clanked against the corpse lying in front of it. Losing courage, he stepped away until his back hit the wall. Sinking to the ground, he pulled his knees in close and bowed his head. He wasn't yet ready to face it.

_Clink-clank._

Behind his closed eyes, Daryl could see hers—blue and bold—and the genuine smile that crested below them. Freckles that kissed the skin on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose when she spent too long in the sun.

 _Clink-clank_.

Her hard-working selflessness that never ceased to amaze him. Staying up on long watches with him without complaint when Glenn had overslept, just to keep him company. How she always made sure he had eaten something, making sure whatever was cooked was still warm when she served it to him, especially on those bitterly cold nights.

 _Clink-clank_.

The gentle way she teased him, pushed him to grow. Made him face his past so he could have a better future. Stood up to him when he was being a jackass. Called him out when he was being too stubborn for his own good. Thanked him. God, when had anyone ever thanked him for anything until she came along. He'd only looked for her daughter because it was the right thing to do. No, that wasn't the whole truth. There was more to it than that. He needed to be honest with himself. He wanted to find Sophia because he cared. Even then, he had cared about that little girl more than he wanted to admit. He cared about Carol. He wanted to keep them both safe. And Carol knew it, too. She was sharp. Smarter than he ever gave her credit for. All of a sudden, it dawned on him. She had thanked him for fucking _caring_. How long must it have been for _her_ to finally meet someone who actually gave a damn about her and her kid? God, he was slow sometimes. If he just had more time, maybe—

 _Clink-clank!_ The echoing sound of the door clamored for his attention, reminding him that time was not on his side. The time for making false promises was over. He just wanted her to be safe. Safe and— _Clink-clank!_ As he grew angry, the noise responded in tandem, seemingly growing louder. _Clink-clank!_ _Clink-clank!_

_Dammit, why couldn't she just be safe?_

His knuckles grew white as they tightened around the handle of Carol's knife he still had clenched in his hand. Growing taut with bitterness as he tried to resist reality, he repeatedly stabbed at the ground, blocking the noise from his mind. He sat upright, inhaling sharply, his back searing into the cold wall, pressing it away from him. But his resistance was futile. The clatter became more insistent; it refused to be ignored. _Clink-clank! Clink-clank! Clink-CLANK!_

He answered the cacophony with an angry slam of his knife against the floor, trying to focus on the electric current traveling up his arm. But the sound began to thunder in his ears. _CLINK-CLANK! CLINK-CLANK! CLINK-CLANK!_

His panicked heart kept pace with the beat. Provoked by the uncomfortable pressure building inside him, he thrust the knife into the wall again and again. But it did nothing to cease the incessant clink-clanking of the door.

Now irate, he stood to face his fear, pacing resentfully. _CLINK-CLANK!_ His breathing quickened and grew shallow as he approached the door. _CLINK-CLANK!_ Hesitating again, he didn't want to see her that way— _not her!_ Carol was gone. Thirsting for vengeance, he kicked the door, giving it a vicious blow with the heel of his boot. There was something else in there now. Some other _thing_.

_That ain't her!_

Unbending, the door answered affirmatively, " _Clink-clank!"_

It was the thing that _killed_ Carol.

His fraying resistance suddenly snapped as he turned back around, flooding him with a raging fury. He was ready to slay the monster inside. In a few angry strides, he was by the door with the knife in his mouth, bending over to drag the corpse away that impeded his path. Reaching for the cold handle, he quickly pulled the door open, his knife ready to strike...

 

* * *

 

It was still dark when Daryl woke with the memories vivid and aching in his mind. Drenched with a cold dread, he willed his shallow breathing to deepen. Sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the lower bunk, he used the flannel sheet to wipe his fear from his face. The nightmares were more frequent now. And they never got any easier to bear despite what Merle told him when they were kids. _Suck it up, buttercup. Ain't nothin'._

It was always something.

Daryl sat for a moment as his breathing slowed, remembering how it felt when he thought he'd lost her before, so many months ago in the tombs. But she had survived. Fought for her life all the way. It wasn't long after he'd found her, dehydrated and clinging to life, that he'd gone off with Rick to save Maggie and Glenn, bidding her his deepest wish, "Stay safe."

And she had.

Carol had what it took to survive. She was a warrior in the truest sense.

Despite his doubts and lost hope, she returned to him again and again. So he wasn't sure why she had remained so detached. Why she had been running away. It wasn't just about what had happened at the prison, although that wound hadn't completely healed either. Rick had made amends with Carol, and Tyreese had already forgiven her. No, there was something else troubling her. Something too horrible to mention.

The uncertainty squirmed through him. Easing himself to the edge, the bed gave a quiet creak as he stood. He cringed, quickly turning back to look behind him. As the moonlight spilled into the shelter bedroom, Daryl could see that Carol was still asleep. Letting out a soft sigh of relief, he watched her. Her pale skin was bathed in moonlight. It seemed to wash away all her hard edges, leaving her soft and youthful. Laying there uncovered, she looked so vulnerable to him. It reminded him of a woman he once knew. Back in the beginning of this new hell they lived in.

The short-haired woman had really blossomed once she stepped out of the shadows of her good-for-nothing old man, and she could begin to feel the sun's rays on her beautiful face. Going above and beyond what most folks usually did when they saw him, she got closer and grew into an incredible, yet unexpected, friend. A reliable confidant. The first person Daryl ever felt inclined to trust.

These days, Carol hid herself behind a titanium mask. And she was running away, running from him. He didn't like it. Since she'd single-handedly rescued him and the others from Terminus, she'd been distant. Something had broken her, and he was pretty sure it had something to do with those two girls she was fostering who hadn't been waiting with Tyreese. Daryl knew they were dead, and his chest ached with Carol's heartache. Two more dead girls. It was unfair—if anyone deserved to be a mother it was Carol.

Last night as they sat in the darkness, he tried to reach her. "Why don't you say what's really on your mind?" he asked.

"I don't think we get to save people anymore," she replied with a raw despair that dug into him.

Initially, her response annoyed him. First she was running away, now she was giving up? She wasn't making any sense to him. "Then why are you here?" He kept the anger from his voice to keep her talking.

"I'm tryin'."

He knew she was. He never knew anyone in his life who tried so hard. So, it didn't make any sense to him why she thought she needed to leave. As if her absence would make things better for him. They had already come so far together. He couldn't lose her, too.

As if she'd heard him, she crossed the room to the lower bunk where he sat. He hid his face in his hands as if to hide his thoughts as she sat down beside him. Sprawling backwards on the mattress, she let out a sigh. She was trying to relax, showing him that she was making an effort. And after all their time apart, having her closer helped him to relax a little too. But his fears urged him to keep talking.

"When we were out by the car—" He couldn't even name aloud what she had been trying to do; his fear was that great. "What if I didn't show up?"

"I still don't know."

She sounded as confused about the situation as he was. Maybe he was pushing too hard for the truth about what happened to her on the road. He just knew he didn't want her to leave again. Fear knotted in his chest as he felt himself gravitating towards her. Moving the pillow behind him, he lay down beside her, needing her closer. Suddenly, the only thing that mattered to him was that she was still there. That had to mean something, didn't it? The tight knot in his chest began to unravel as he exhaled.

They lay together in the moonlight, just like they had back at the prison. Only tonight, neither were talking much. Daryl wasn't really sure what to say to comfort Carol, or reassure her. He only knew that she needed it now more than ever. Words were never worth much to Daryl anyway. In his experience, actions spoke far more truth. So he knew he needed to do something to show Carol that after everything, he was still her friend. That he still cared about her. And that he was looking out for her, too. He needed to give her something she could hold onto. Something that would lighten her path through whatever darkness it was that she seemed to have gotten lost in.

He remembered the way she trembled and wept when he embraced her in the woods a few days ago. Maybe if he held her again, he could remind her that he was still on her side. But they were lying in bed. Close. He wasn't that much of a fool to know how intimate that would be. Would she get offended or get the wrong idea that he was after more? Right now, he wasn't sure he could handle anything more himself, but he had to admit that he'd imagined what it might be like. He gave her a curious glance, wondering how much of himself he could really give her, and if it would ever be enough for her to want to stay.

But before he had a chance to find out, they had heard something banging down the hallway. Carol immediately got up and went to investigate with him. She didn't let her fear stop her anymore. He wondered when this would be true for him. If it ever would be.

Weapons drawn, they moved down the hall, mindful of the possible dangers that could confront them. Turning the corner, his flashlight illuminated the walkers trapped inside room number seven that were throwing themselves against the glass-paneled door trying to get at them. A mother and her child. It stopped him in his tracks, but Carol went straight for the door.

Daryl reached his arm out to stop her. "You don't have to," he reminded her, knowing how painful it would be for her to dispatch them. He didn't want her to have to bear it. She was already holding onto enough grief.

Carol hesitated, but made to open the door anyway. The walker child banged itself against the glass, demanding her attention.

"You don't," he said more forcefully, placing his hand over hers on the doorknob. He willed her to see. It wasn't all on her.

Eventually, she relented and made her way back to the room they were staying in. Collapsing on the bed, she didn't say a word to him, and her silence pained him. He sat on the end of the bed to give her space, his back against the cold metal rail, and tried to be patient. Picking at the loose thread on his pants, he tried to focus on it. In his concern, his eyes kept returning to her, but he tried not to stare. To his great relief, she finally started talking.

"After Rick told me he wouldn't let me come back, I drove around for a little bit wondering how long I should let him cool off before I went back, _if_ I went back. I took shelter in a law office in town." She paused. With a bent finger, she rubbed back and forth across her forehead as if to remove a stain. "I was...ashamed. I didn't think I should be with other people after—" She halted, swallowing the words. "So I stayed the night. But in the morning, when I saw the smoke, I went back to the prison. Thought I could help. But when I arrived, the fences were down. The prison was on fire. There were walkers _everywhere_. I didn't know where anybody was. Or if they were even alive. Then I saw Lizzie and Mika running off with Tyreese, so I followed them. I knew he'd need help with the baby. And I made a promise to—"

Daryl filled in the blanks. "You wanted to help."

She shrugged. "Wanted to, but I couldn't. Not really."

"But you tried."

"It wasn't enough," she insisted as she sat up, distressed.

He nodded his understanding, knowing how it felt to fall short. To fail. But wasn't it the attempt that counted?

"You tried. Sometimes, that's all we can do."

She eyed him warily as if she was trying to believe him, but somehow couldn't. She was stuck. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Frowning, Carol stood and yawned, moving to the window, growing distant again. With a troubled gaze, she looked out across the roof to the darkened cityscape.

"It's late," Daryl said, reminding them both of the grueling day that lay ahead. "We don't gotta talk about this now. But when you're ready..."

 

* * *

 

As the memories faded with the darkness, Daryl continued to watch as Carol slept, amazed that she finally had. When she woke, he knew her mind would be on those walkers down the hall. And while he had convinced her to let it go last night, he knew it would be a harder sell in the light of day.

Turning away, he wiped the uncertainty from his face. His eyes fell upon the book sitting on the desk. The title called out to him in bold letters: _Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse: Psychotherapy for the Interrupted Life._ It was the " _Interrupted Life_ " part that really caught his attention. If he ever had hope of really helping Carol, maybe he needed to start with himself. He walked over and thumbed through the book, wondering if it contained any answers he was looking for. But it was still too dark to make out the words, so he stuffed it in his bag to read later.

Besides, Daryl didn't need the book for this situation. He knew the only way to keep Carol from experiencing more pain was to take care of the walkers himself. So he slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Stealing down the hallway, he opened the glass door of Room Seven, quickly stabbing the female walker as she approached him, growling. Kneeling, he went to stab the chestnut-haired child walker, but the recollection of a freckled-faced girl in a rainbow T-shirt flashed across the walker's face, making him take a penitent pause. An ancient grief tightened in his chest as he held the walker at bay. The child walker struggled weakly, pawing at his arm. It was no match for his strength. The realization filled him with an even older anger that grabbed hold of him, galvanizing his arm to thrust the knife forward. The corpse went limp against him. He let out a hushed cry as he strained to pull out his knife.

To Daryl, despite the size difference, it was Sophia that he saw and held in his arms, and he wept silently as he laid the child down next to her mother. He was grateful that he could spare Carol this pain. Wiping his eyes, he stood, stepping over the bodies to cross the room. He pulled the sheets off the bunk beds with hasty tugs and quickly set to work shrouding the bodies. He wanted them gone by the time Carol woke up.

 

* * *

 

Carol awoke to flames again. Her heart began to race when she realized that Daryl was gone from the bunk below. Grabbing her gun, she moved swiftly to the window. As she glanced outside, she sucked in a breath of disbelief, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. Daryl was on the roof, burning the corpses of the two walkers they had discovered during the night. He'd actually taken the time to wrap the bodies in bed sheets, giving them some semblance of an honorable, final rest. Closure. She couldn't remember a time in her whole wicked life when anyone had done anything so incredibly thoughtful—and selfless— _for her_. More than a gift, it was a revelation to finally understand how completely she had been seen by Daryl, even in her defeated silence. To understand the lengths he'd go through simply to spare her sorrow. Her eyes burned with validation as the true significance of his compassion overcame her—uplifted her. Tears fell from her eyes and stirred her to life.

Joining him on the roof, Carol was overwhelmed with gratitude. "Thank you," she offered to him, her chest swelling with warmth.

He acknowledged her appreciation with a simple nod. As the fire burned, something unspoken settled tenderly between them. Something that felt a bit more hopeful. A bit more dear. It drew her closer to him still. Clasping his hand, she stood at his side as an equal. As someone deserving of more than she had thought. She was beginning to feel that she belonged with people. She needed reminding that there was still kindness resting in the hearts of others, waiting to be discovered.

Squeezing his hand, she reminded herself she was not alone. This gift of a man, this best of all friends, was proof enough.

She was still loved.


End file.
